


I <3 Scarves

by DestielsDestiny



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Possibly Pre-Slash, Scarves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4810289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielsDestiny/pseuds/DestielsDestiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail gave Henry his first scarf. Like many things, what was a singular incident in 1947 is apparently all the rage in 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I <3 Scarves

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.  
> This is an AU mainly because I play around with Henry's personal timeline a bit-I move when he and Abigail had their honeymoon, for example. Still, general spoiler warning for the entire season.

Abigail gives Henry his first scarf. It is 1947, their honeymoon in fact, Abe barely past toddling scampering eagerly around their knees in the quiet London street.  
Henry was flirting with Abigail, saying something he can no longer recall quite right. Except the part where he called her Mrs. Morgan. That part he remembers. 

It was a new thing for them, a private thrill that never quite goes away, somehow still illicit in those first days of their actual marriage, even after two years of faking it for Abraham's sake. They will get married a further five times in the next thirty years, have four and a half honeymoons, raise a son and attempt to grow old together, however unsuccessfully. 

And yet this one moment, a simple blustery, cold and rainy day in East London, will always stand out to Henry, more than all the others. 

The swirl of Abigail's hair, caught in a sudden gust of wind. The shiver of his own frame pressed against her shoulder as if to ward off the chill, drawing the open neck of his thick trench coat rather futilely about his neck. 

Abe's joyous laughter at Daddy's silly grimace, Abigail's insistent tug on his hand. Standing in the rain outside for what seems like hours, water dripping down the edge of his collar, Abraham's compact warmth exuding undeniable energy despite his sleepy toddler stillness against Henry's damp chest. 

Abe's small hand reaching out insistently, sleep hooded eyes fastening on the streak of colour invading his small field of vision. 

The brush of Abigail's fingers as she turned down his collar over the warm thickness suddenly swathing his neck. 

The almost sad twinkle in her eyes as she patted Abe's small fingers tangling into azure blue threads, reaching out a graceful hand to tip Henry's fedora just so on his head. 

"There, very handsome Dr. Morgan." The breaking tinkle of glass as Abigail's delicate laugh pierces the rainy backdrop, blending in beautifully with Abe's high pitched giggles, Henry's own chuckling baritone a harmonious background accompaniment to the symphony of happiness being composed right before his very eyes.  
-

It is such a simple moment, such an ordinary day, little different than scores of others he has with his little family in the years following, and yet somehow it always stands out. Henry doesn't even remember what happened to that scarf. He never wears it again to his knowledge. 

He tears their home apart looking for it a week after he finally acknowledges Abigail is gone for good. 

Abe cleans up the mess without complaint, and when he wakes up there is a bright blue pile of fabric arranged haphazardly beside a cooling cup of tea.  
The scarf smells new and cheap, but Henry wears it until the threads come apart. By that point, he needs an entire drawer for all his scarves. 

Henry never asks Abe how he remembered the significance of something Henry hadn't even realized was significant for nearly forty years. He is never entirely sure why scarves mean so much to him. It remains a mystery, much like his elusive immortality. 

He still never leaves the house without one again after Abigail leaves. 

\--  
Lucas is by far the oddest young man Henry has ever met in his entire two hundred years and change, even taking into account Abe's rebellious phase. The teenage one as well as the other one they both have sworn never to mention again. Henry means this in the nicest possible way, largely because Lucas is also one of a very select few people he's ever truly felt comfortable around. He's not entirely sure why, but he suspects the oddity has something to do with it. Birds of a feather and all that. 

They don't as a rule give each other presents, Lucas is far too in awe of Henry to make any true deepening of their relationship on any level feasible at this point in their lives, but breaking down and going clubbing with the lad seems to loosen those unspoken barriers somewhat, however unintentionally. Lucas also has the best puppy dog eyes Henry has ever encountered. This is a fact he largely ignores, except those times when something will be said or some sudden movement will occur nearby, and Lucas looks more like a quivering dog expecting a kick than a puppy. Those moments mostly just leave Henry wanting to punch something. 

Thus when Henry walks into work one perfectly ordinary day, on a date that has no particular significance to anyone or anything, to find a midnight blue, deep cashmere scarf folded painstakingly atop his pristine desk, his first reaction is to politely refuse the gift. As much as he can't help reaching out a hand to brush lightly against the melting softness beneath his fingers for just a moment first. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Henry catches Lucas hovering nervously slightly to the right of the doorway, uncertainty in ever twitch of his wiry frame, a hint of uncertainty entering those gentle eyes. Henry has never been the kind of man one would accuse of inaction.

Carefully reaching up to remove his current scarf from about his neck, Henry expertly winds the new one into place as he walks briskly out his office doors, purposeful steps taking him straight past his cringing assistant. Spinning with a slightly deliberate swaveness inches from the morgue door handles, Henry takes in his assistant's crushed expression in a heart that can't help but squeeze slightly painfully in his immortal chest cavity. 

"Lucas, would you care to join Abraham and I for dinner? It's spaghetti night, not the most exotic cuisine perhaps, but it's an old recipe of Abe's mother's. I think you'll like it." 

There is more than a touch of presumptuousness in the words, but Lucas' smile is wide enough that Henry could swear he hears his assistant's jaw bones crack just a touch. 

Lucas beats him to the elevator. 

\--

Henry reads an article once that boasts of a man living in lower Manhattan who owns over a thousand scarfs, in every colour ever made. He feels not the least bit hypocritical in pointing out to Abe and Lucas that this gentlemen is more than a touch obsessive, in his opinion. They wisely both keep their opinions to themselves. 

Henry catches Lucas counting his scarves later that night, Abraham gamely serving alternatively as a scarf rack and backup counting system. He heaves a resigned side, and wades in to rescue his cashmere collection. 

Henry never really knows why he loves scarves so much. He just knows that every time he puts one on, he remembers the person who gave him one in the first place. And how much he loves them. How much they loved him. 

Remembers a moment when love was as soft as the brush of a hand, and as ordinary as the rain. 

Remembers that in the end, it still is just that ordinary. And just that real.


End file.
